


like a bad penny

by Thealmostrhetoricalquestion



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, Love Confessions, Multi, Mutual Pining, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Panic Attacks, Scorbus, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-08-19 09:22:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8199908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion/pseuds/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion
Summary: “Oh, and I got you the homework Professor Cosima assigned last night.” Al flips a page over as though he’s not busy being a life-saver, and Scorpius could kiss him, honestly. “I could kiss you,” Scorpius says gleefully, because he’s never seen the point of keeping harmless thoughts to himself, and also because he knows it will make Al blush. Al glares at him over his wiry, silver glasses, cheeks pink, and Scorpius cackles quietly.“You’re an arse,” Al mutters. “Just pick a damn charm already.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I hope you like this :) The bits in italics are parts of the past, and the last bit is to highlight the differences between when they first met and their present friendship. It's mostly just fluff and HP stuff, because my last story was a little emotionally heavy. I really hope you like it! More to come soon!

_“I’m like a bad penny,” Scorpius mumbles. He scuffs the toe of his shoe across the white linoleum, tracing the pattern on the floor, and stares miserably at his broken arm, which is wrapped in pink plaster. The Healer had offered him blue, but the pink had been brighter, and Scorpius had thought it might help cheer him up. So far, it’s not really working._

_His arm hurts, and the pain is so distracting that it feels like it’s everywhere, in his head and in his legs and chest and right down in his brain._

_Draco looks at him sharply. “Where did you hear that? Was it Cousin Orla? Because I can have words with Auntie Pansy if she’s teasing you. Or your mother can, since they’re such good friends.” Draco is too dignified to make faces at Astoria’s back, but Scorpius knows he wants to. Astoria whips around and aims a suspicious look at them, as though she can sense Draco’s snide remark, but Scorpius gives her a little wave and she seems to soften slightly, smiling before she turns back to the Healer holding a sheaf of paperwork._

_“I didn’t hear it. I read it in a book in your library,” Scorpius says, sniffing. “I stole one because you wouldn’t read me a bedtime story.”_

_Draco makes a small noise that could be a laugh, although Scorpius can’t really tell, and then coughs hastily to cover it up. “Well, we can talk about that later. You’re only five, Scorpius. Some of those books are too serious and dangerous for small boys to read. And you’re nothing like a bad penny, alright? There’s nothing unlucky about you.”_

_A small girl with pigtails is wheeled past them in a glittery chair. Scorpius watches her go and thinks that she must feel unlucky too, sometimes. Cousin Orla and Gracie and some of his other friends always make fun of him when he drops things or breaks things or walks into things. It’s not his fault that he’s so clumsy, though, he swears._

_“Hey.” Scorpius looks up reluctantly as Draco taps under his chin._

_“Bad things always happen around me.”_

_“No,” Draco says, frowning down at him. “Bad things happen around you sometimes, but that’s not your fault. Bad things happen to everyone. Everyone is clumsy and silly sometimes.”_

_“Your father is silly all of the time,” Astoria says, drawing closer, and Scorpius muffles his giggles behind his good hand._

_“That was uncalled for,” Draco mutters, and Scorpius giggles even harder._

_“Accidents happen, sweetheart,” Astoria says, kneeling in front of him to take his hand. Scorpius smiles up at his mother’s face and feels better. “But if you believe in things like luck, then you must believe in things like fate, and balance, yes? So, whenever you feel unlucky, just remember that you will have lucky days too. It will all balance out.”_

_“Well, that’s basically what I said,” Draco says, in a haughty tone that fools neither his wife nor his son._

_Astoria sighs fondly and stands up, brushing off her skirts and holding out her hand. “Come along then. What’s our rule, when there’s a hospital trip?”_

_“Triple Hot Chocolate Sundaes!” Scorpius shouts, almost falling off of his chair in excitement. He takes his parents’ hands and forgets about broken arms and unlucky pennies for the rest of the night._

*

Scorpius has never considered himself to be a lucky person. Quite the opposite, in fact. Bad things seem to happen when he’s around, things that are unexplainable, things that defy all reason. Ladders fall down and his shoelaces mysteriously tie themselves together. He trips and falls and lands on his ass frequently. Doors are slammed in his face by particularly mean-spirited winds, and if there’s something fragile in his hands, then there’s a one hundred percent chance that it will be on the floor by the end of the day, smashed into splinters.

When he went to Hogwarts, his first ever letter from his family came on the second morning. A small, white owl with brown splotches of feathers had delivered it, as well as a small, plain box that had unfolded to reveal an enormous box full of sweets and the odd things he had left behind. He had shared the sweets out amongst his fellow Slytherin’s, and several of them had become distinctly warmer to him after that.

Astoria had written:

_My dear little clover,_

_Your father wanted to charm one of the peacocks to fly and send your mail that way. I’m not sure if he wanted to make an impression or if he’s just attempting to get rid of the last of the dratted things, but either way, I thought it best to put a stop to it. He also wanted to dye the blasted bird green as a token of celebration, but I think that I can just congratulate you on getting into Slytherin through words instead. Congratulations, sweetheart. You know we don’t mind which House you are in, as long as you wear your colours with pride and try your best._

_Your father is rolling his eyes over my shoulder, but I know he feels the same. Deep down._

Scorpius had grinned over his cereal. The letter had gone on for quite some time, and Scorpius didn’t mind, but it was when he reached the bottom that he really began to take note. His father had written, in his strangely curly handwriting; _See a knut, pick it up, and all day long you’ll have good luck,_ and a little bronze coin had been taped to the parchment. Since then, every single letter had contained a coin that Draco had presumably found outside, ruthlessly cleaned, and then taken home to send to him.

Scorpius doesn’t think they make him luckier, but he always feels a little better with one in his pocket.

His hand slides briefly to his pocket now as he races down the corridor, bag banging against his hip as he runs. He overslept, despite setting two alarms this morning, and now breakfast is over. He has to ignore his rumbling stomach as he skids to a stop in front of his classroom, which is already full of quiet mutters and the grating scratch of quills against parchment. He mouths an apology at Flitwick, who sighs and gestures for him to take a seat, and then Scorpius throws himself behind his desk, panting.

“You’re late again,” Al whispers. He reaches into his cloak pocket and hands Scorpius a bulging napkin. There are two slices of buttered toast inside, and Scorpius smiles gratefully, hand hovering over Al’s head like he wants to ruffle his hair before wolfing down his breakfast.

“You didn’t even chew,” Al says, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “You could have at least warmed it up.”

“You know I prefer cold food,” Scorpius says, licking butter off of his fingers and shrugging. “What are we supposed to be doing? Vanishing Charms again?”

“No, we have to pick a charm from the Standard Book of Spells Grade 5 and master it by the end of the week,” Al says. He shoves his book down the length of the desk and flips it open, leaning in so they can both share it. They share most of their books, and Scorpius doesn’t even have to ask by now. Scorpius knows that he bought the book at the beginning of the year, and he knows he brought it with him, but for the life of him, he has no idea where it is.

“Can I borrow a quill?” Scorpius whispers. “And maybe some ink?”

Al quirks an exasperated smile at him and points at an inkwell and two quills, which are already out and waiting on top of the desk, neatly arranged side by side. It’s not unusual for Scorpius to turn up to class unprepared, despite how much time he spent the previous night trying to be over-prepared for the morning.

“Oh, and I got you the homework Cosima assigned last night.” Al flips a page over as though he’s not busy being a life-saver, and Scorpius could kiss him, honestly.

“I could kiss you,” Scorpius mutters gleefully, because he’s never seen the point of keeping harmless thoughts to himself, and also because he knows it will make Al blush. Al glares at him over his wiry silver glasses, cheeks pink, and Scorpius cackles quietly.

“You’re an ass,” Al mutters. “Just pick a damn charm already.”

“But there’s already so much charm at this little desk of ours,” Scorpius says, gesturing at himself and winking. He hastily drags the book towards him when Al waves his wand threateningly – most people think Al is soft and quiet, and he is, but he’s also got a fantastically sharp edge, and a penchant for particularly embarrassing spells, like the Bat-Bogey Hex. Scorpius has no idea where Al learnt it, but he wouldn’t like to meet the person who taught it to him.

Scorpius pages through the book and eventually settles on Diminuendo, the shrinking charm. The instructions are pretty simple, which means his essay will be easy enough to write, but there are also a whole bunch of funny anecdotes of cases gone wrong, and he can’t wait to read them all and apply them to his essay.

He reaches for the inkwell, accidentally nudges it off the edge of the table with a jerk of his hand, and closes his eyes as it smashes against the floor. Black ink splatters everywhere, and bits of glass skid across the floor. Scorpius opens one eye and squints at Flitwick, who shakes his head with a sigh. The mess is cleaned up in an instant, and only one person in the class snickers. They’re all pretty used to Scorpius and the clumsy accidents that follow him wherever he goes.

Al doesn’t even blink. He reaches into his bag and produces another inkwell, which he proceeds to glue to the table with a temporary sticking charm.

“Why were you late this time? Forget to go to bed again?”

“I got caught up in a book,” Scorpius explains sheepishly. “It’s fascinating. Professor Aster gave it to me after I finished all of the rune translations in class, and it’s about this secondary set of Hieroglyphics found in Egypt with a different code to all the usual ones. Nobody’s been able to decipher the code in the past hundred years.”

He rambles on about the research and the archaeological digs taking place in Cairo that very moment, in an attempt to locate the instructions to an old, old tomb that supposedly belonged to an ancient, powerful witch. What Scorpius wouldn’t give to be the one to decipher those instructions.

Al listens attentively, doodling in the margins of his notes. Little pencil sketches of dragons’ stomp across the parchment, breathing grey fire all over Al’s careful writing, and Scorpius can feel himself getting distracted by the shape of Al’s hands even as his mouth keeps on moving. He could talk for hours about Ancient Runes - it used to be Astronomy that he couldn't get enough of, but now Ancient Runes has taken over.

When the bell goes, they are no closer to starting their essays, or mastering their charms, but there are two sheets of parchment in Scorpius’s bag featuring a family of dragons that Scorpius has named after the Potter-Weasley’s.

“I still don’t know why you keep all of my doodles,” Al says, shaking his head as they walk to Herbology. “They’re just sketches, it’s all stupid stuff.”

“Talent isn’t stupid,” Scorpius says firmly. He’s kept every single one of Al’s drawings, and they litter his dorm, tucked away in pockets and drawers and his trunk. He’s always made noises about putting them into some kind of book, even the ripped, torn ones that Scorpius has accidentally used as a coaster, but he’s never quite gotten around to doing it. There are never enough hours in a day, and there’s always so much to read and learn and _do_. One day, though, he’s going to make Al realise that he’s smart and talented and special, damn it.

“Scorpius,” Al says, just a second too late. Scorpius walks smack bang into an open door and staggers backwards, doubling over, clutching his face as his nose throbs painfully. Someone squeaks as they exit the classroom, apologising profusely as they shut the door behind them, and Scorpius waves them off, groaning.

“He’s fine, don’t worry,” he hears Al say. Then there’s a hand on the back of his collar, dragging him down an empty, slightly darker corridor. It takes Scorpius a minute to realise that they’ve ducked behind a nearby tapestry, and he leans back against the wall, grimacing.

“You have to look where you’re going,” Al hisses. He doesn’t sound properly angry, but he’s also always been good at hiding how he’s really feeling. Scorpius, James and Louis are the only ones who really know Al, and the only ones that can tell his moods apart, but right now Scorpius’s head is spinning too much to care if Al rips it off.

“I was too busy thinking,” Scorpius says thickly. “Is it broken? It feels broken. Oh Merlin, it’s going to be so crooked, and I’ll owe mum five galleons.” They have bets going regarding the next broken bone, bets that Draco pretends to highly disapprove of. He's always been a rather panicky person where Scorpius is involved, especially if he's injured in any way. Scorpius still has a very distinct memory of his father shrieking like a banshee as Scorpius surveyed a small paper-cut with a clinical air.

Al sighs and bats Scorpius’s hands away. “Let me have a look.”

Scorpius grumbles incoherently as Al pokes gently at his nose, fingers skating carefully over his cheekbones. Usually, Scorpius would protest to the contact - he's not overly fond of people in his space, or touching him, unless it's his parents, but he makes an exception for Al. He feels comfortable with Al. Sometimes it still unsettles him, to have someone so close, touching his skin and getting in his space and breathing near him or on him, but this doesn’t feel intrusive. Al keeps his touches clinical and light, enough that Scorpius doesn’t mind, but even this feels intimate. He’s glad it’s pretty dark, so that Al can’t see the flush in his cheeks. It’s not fair – when Albus blushes, it’s barely discernible, but Scorpius inherited the pale Malfoy pallor. Even his eyebrows are probably blushing.

“Moron,” Al says softly. “I don’t think it’s broken, and it’s not bleeding. You might end up with a black eye though. You did bash it pretty hard, I wish you’d be more bloody careful.”

“That _was_ me being careful,” Scorpius says. He wiggles his nose, and no, it doesn’t feel broken, but it still hurts, and the pain is distracting, spreading through his face. “How glad are you that I don’t play Quidditch?”

Al pales considerably and then snorts, stalking out of the secret corridor. “I forbid it. You’d accidentally eat a bludger and die two minutes in.”

Scorpius considers being offended, but he can’t exactly argue, not when Al’s completely accurate in his assessment. He puts a hand in his pocket, finds the handful of bronze coins and sighs. “Some lucky charm you are,” he mutters, and then tucks them away as he follows Al out onto the school grounds, ready for Herbology. Hopefully, this time, the Venemous Tentacula won’t try and bite his face off.

*

“You’re bleeding,” Lorcan observes, as he folds himself primly onto the bench beside Scorpius. His Ravenclaw tie is tied neatly and rests on his immaculate uniform, and there’s not a single blonde hair out of place, which is more than can be said for Scorpius’s. Scorpius taps the side of his face and grimaces when his fingers come away sticky with blood. He wipes it off on his robes, and Lorcan winces, hand twitching like he wants to deep-clean Scorpius’s uniform.

“Venemous Tentacula,” Scorpius explains. “Damn thing got a taste for me last week and now it won’t leave me alone. Al hit it with a trowel, though, so it’s not all bad.” He grins, remembers Longbottom Jr shrieking as the trowel whipped past his head and smacked into the plant. Al had been smug for half an hour.

“Of course he did,” Lorcan mutters, so low that Scorpius almost doesn’t hear him. He pretends not to, because he knows that Lorcan doesn’t like Al, and he knows that Al doesn’t really like Lorcan in return, but he doesn’t have a clue why, and there’s no way he’s going to get in the middle of that.

“You should go to Madam Pomfrey,” Lorcan says. He opens a pocket of his bag and produces his wand, which is carefully wrapped in a swathe of silk, and Scorpius has to remind himself that Lorcan is his friend, his incredibly sensitive friend, and therefore won’t take Scorpius scoffing at him very well. _And Lorcan never says anything about your traits_ , he reminds himself.

“It’s just a scratch,” Scorpius says, but he smiles gratefully when Lorcan waves his wand, lips pursed, and the scratch heals up. He does another spell, presumably to clean up the dried blood, and then carefully wraps his wand back up and puts it in his bag. “Where’s Ly?”

Lorcan rolls his eyes. “He got caught coming back through the Hogsmeade Passage with a crate full of butterbeer. Don’t worry, it was Flitwick who caught him, and I think he already knows about the Passage. He won’t say anything. You should still be able to use it safely. Not that there’s anything safe about those Passages.”

“You sound like Rose’s mum,” Scorpius says, nudging Lorcan’s shoulder.

“And wasn’t she the Brightest Witch of her age?” Lorcan arches an eyebrow and then gives in, nudging him back reluctantly. “This doesn’t mean I’m going to your stupid party, by the way.”

“What party?” Scorpius looks back at the book in his lap, voice pitched to sound as innocent as possible. It doesn’t really work – Scorpius has never _quite_ mastered the nuances of tones and expressions, although that doesn’t mean he can’t be cunning if he wants to. The hat put him in Slytherin for a reason, and it isn’t just because of his loyalty, or the fact that he has _ambitions_ , and _nothing_ is going to stop him from achieving them. He yelps when Lorcan snatches the book away and holds it up out of reach. Scorpius could summon it, of course, but there’s not much point, not when Lorcan’s got that look on his face.

“It’s just a party, Lorcan,” Scorpius wheedles. “Just one tiny little party. In the name of House Unity. I don't even like parties, and I'm going, so you should be on board too.”

He’s only ever been to one party, and it was a small one when he was younger. It involved a lot of music and balloons and streamers, and most of it is a blur of discomfort and distress. His parents never made him go to any more parties when he was younger if he didn’t want to, and Scorpius didn’t often want to.

He’s only going to his one because House Unity is important, and damned if he’s not going to stand up for things he believes in.

"And you think I _do_ like parties?" Lorcan rolls his eyes so hard that they almost fall out, and then jumps when Lysander appears out of nowhere, grabbing the book out of his brother’s hands. Lysander grins down at him and then collapses on the grass in front of them. Scorpius slides off of the bench to join him, and Lysander passes him the book, despite Lorcan’s indignant noise.

“C’mon little brother,” Lysander says, tapping the space beside him, where he’s sprawled out.

“I’ll get grass stains on my robes,” Lorcan says stiffly.

Lysander shrugs carelessly. “So? Live a little, it won’t kill you.”

“That’s a contradictory statement,” Lorcan says huffily, but he eventually joins them, getting his books out and making a start on one of his essays. Scorpius leans back against the bench, feels the warm grass tickling the bare strips of his ankles, and skims through his book, chewing absent-mindedly on the toy around his neck. Lysander leans back on his elbows and grins rakishly at pretty much everyone who walks past, humming under his breath. The sun is warm and the grounds are busy but quiet, and the feeling of rubber under his teeth is soothing, and Scorpius could almost fall asleep like this…

He wakes half an hour later to Lysander staring down at him, an amused look on his face.

“You snore,” Lysander informs him. “And your boyfriend’s coming over. Accompanied by royalty, naturally.”

Scorpius blinks away sleep and stretches. Lorcan looks away quickly when Scorpius smiles at him, and Scorpius peers over the top of his bent, blonde head to find Al waving at him. Louis Weasley is striding beside him, his robes billowing dramatically in a way that must be manufactured, because there’s barely any breeze. He wouldn’t put it past Louis to have a little fan installed on his belt somewhere, for emergency modelling services.

“Please don’t start anything,” Scorpius mutters, shooting Lysander a warning look that he knows will go unheeded. Lysander is already sitting up, a cocky grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. Lysander and Louis have a strange relationship that Scorpius doesn’t want to understand.

“Scamander,” Louis says scathingly, tossing his platinum blonde hair as he comes to a stop behind Lorcan. “You look as untidy as ever.”

Lysander glances down at his open shirt and undone die and shrugs. “It’s called style. That all you got, Princess?”

Louis’s ears go red and Scorpius winces. He gets to his feet and stands on his shoelaces, almost tripping head-first into Lorcan’s lap before Al catches him by the elbow.

“Thanks,” Scorpius says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I think the spell wore off the laces.”

“I think it’s probably just you, Malfoy,” Louis says, before Al can say anything. “You’re like a troll in an antique store.”

Scorpius blinks at him. “Did you just call me a troll?”

Lorcan makes a sharp remark, which draws Lysander in, and suddenly the three of them are squabbling like children, leaving both Al and Scorpius on the edge, blinking slowly at their friends.

 “C’mon,” Al says in his ear, tugging on his arm once before letting go. “I’ll fix your laces when we get to class, and then you can tell me all about the party you’ve been planning that you forgot to mention to me.”

Scorpius hesitates a moment, and then wraps an arm around Al’s shoulder, tugging him closer as they head towards the front steps. He knows Al’s cheeks are warm without having to look, but he looks anyway.

“What would I do without you, Mr Potter?” Scorpius says, loudly enough that a few nearby girls giggle at them. He tosses them a slightly cheeky grin, the way he’s seen Lysander do, and then turns back to Al with a smaller, more private smile, one that’s just for him.

Al’s mouth twitches, and he leans into the touch. “Perish, I’m sure.”

“I guess it’s lucky I won’t ever have to find out, then, isn’t it?”

“I guess it is.”

 

*

 

_Almost nothing can ruin Scorpius’s love for astronomy._

_The tower is cold, so Scorpius wraps his cloak even tighter around his body. It’s lined with expensive mink fur that’s been dyed green, and it’s one of the only luxuries that Scorpius has received from his grandmother than he actually puts to good use. Narcissa has a habit of buying gifts for him, rather than expressing herself through emotions, but Scorpius doesn’t mind. People love in different ways, after all, and he knows first-hand how difficult it is to… interact with people, to communicate with them._

_The little bronze coin in the pocket makes the cloak feel even warmer, but he still shivers as another waft of cold wind blows through the tower, weaving in and out of the stone pillars like a child playing tag. Scorpius rearranges his collar and leans down fill in the fourth column of the incredibly intricate star chart in front of him, blue ink blotting the page in his haste to get the details written down. The stars won’t move, but the clouds will. Scorpius has developed a hatred for clouds over the years, and he doesn’t understand why people find that weird._

_“So, should I set up here?”_

_His quill slips across the parchment, leaving a bright line where the word ‘cosmic’ should be. He erases it easily with a flick of his wand – it’s not worth getting annoyed about things like that when magic exists – and then turns to face the boy speaking to him._

_“Oh,” Scorpius says, as he’s confronted with a fidgety Albus Potter. “Hello.”_

_Albus offers him a small, weak smile, and Scorpius regards him carefully. He takes in the chapped, bitten bottom lip, the tousled black hair, the way his hands are tucked up into his sleeves, hidden from sight. His foot is bouncing, but not with impatience, Scorpius notices. A nervous tick, perhaps._

_There are lots of reasons why the middle Potter child might be nervous. Scorpius runs through all of them in a matter of seconds – Scorpius is a Slytherin, he’s slightly bigger than Albus and therefore more intimidating, and then there was that outburst in the Great Hall with Lorcan last week that Albus probably heard about – before disregarding all of them. The most logical reason is that the two of them are, for the most part, complete strangers, and strangers are rarely immediately comfortable with each other._

_“Should I set up here?” Albus repeats, gesturing with a tiny jerk of his head at the space beside Scorpius’s telescope._

_Scorpius furrows his brow. “What for?”_

_“For the project that I just assigned you, Mr Malfoy, or were you not paying attention again?” Professor Cosima sweeps past them in a flurry of silk robes, her mouth twisted into a wry smile._

_“I was paying attention to the stars, ma’am,” Scorpius says seriously, gesturing at the sky. Something catches his eye and he makes a distracted sound as he inches back towards his telescope. He hears Professor Cosima sigh behind him._

_“Don’t mind him, Mr Potter,” she says. “Mr Malfoy is very hard to distract when it comes to his schoolwork, even when the distraction happens to be a member of authority.”_

_Not all schoolwork, Scorpius wants to say, but there’s a swift breeze coming in and it makes the eleventh quadrant of the sky a lot clearer as the clouds run for cover, so he busies himself with taking notes before the conditions change again._

_“So, should I just…?”_

_“If you set up your telescope here, this will be your desk for the entirety of your project. Mr Malfoy will stop being so rude and come around once he gets his head out of the clouds. I expect a joint effort on your part to complete the project, so don’t allow him to bully you in any way, understand?”_

_“Yes, Professor.”_

_The next ten minutes are quiet. Scorpius fills out his fourth and fifth column and moves on to the final quadrant of the sky, the lunar quadrant. He makes notes and he hums under his breath when he finds something interesting, and for a long, peaceful moment, he’s almost completely sure that Albus has been placed somewhere else, but when he finally looks up from his telescope, rubbing his neck to get the crick out of it, Albus is seated beside him, doodling in the margins of his own star chart, his telescope standing beside him._

_“You’re very quiet,” Scorpius observes, and Albus jumps so hard that he spills his inkwell everywhere. Scorpius vanishes the mess absentmindedly, casting a quick cursory glance over the astronomy tower before he looks back at Albus. There are more students in the tower than usual. In fact, it looks as though the class has doubled since Scorpius first set up his telescope._

_“Everybody’s quiet,” Albus replies, fiddling with the empty inkwell. “It’s astronomy. You’re supposed to be quiet.”_

_“There’s no rule about that actually,” Scorpius dismisses. “I checked when I first started this class, as a matter of principle. Did you know that there’s a complete collection of school rules in the school library? Hardly anyone’s bothered to take it out. And I was referring to your mannerisms, not the volume of your voice. You managed to set up your telescope without making a single noise. I didn’t even know you were there.”_

_Albus snorts. “I figured that out for myself, weirdly enough.”_

_Scorpius arches an eyebrow. Not entirely as placid as he assumed. He watches Albus drum his inky fingers lightly against the desk, and then frowns again at the doubly full room. Scorpius has Astronomy three times a week, in the evenings, on a Monday, Wednesday and Thursday, and every single lesson so far has been made up purely of Slytherin’s._

_He glances at the Hufflepuff insignia stitched onto Albus’s cloak, the yellow and black colours of his tie, and then glances around the room once again. Hufflepuff’s and Slytherin’s, and still only one teacher._

_“You really don’t listen, do you?” Albus asks. There’s no judgement in his tone, but Scorpius also detects no hint of amusement, which is how people usually sound when they make observations about him. Albus seems too nervous for amusement._

_“I listen when I deem it necessary,” Scorpius says, shrugging with a rueful grin. “And when I’m unoccupied. But some things are just too fascinating to ignore, don’t you agree?”_

_Albus peers through the pillars for a moment, gazing at the sky, and nods, lips pursed. “It looks nice. Cold, but nice. Do you have any ideas about the project yet?”_

_Scorpius simply stares at him, and eventually Albus breaks eye contact to pick a piece of parchment up off of the desk between them. He hands it to Scorpius, and as their fingers brush, Scorpius feels the cold chill that’s wrapped itself around Albus’s brown hands. He thinks about offering Albus his coat, but he doubts the boy would appreciate it._

_“Our classes have been put together for this term and the next,” Albus explains, as Scorpius reads through the mission statement on the parchment that describes the details of their assignment. “Firenze had to leave and go back to the forest, so we don’t have a Divination teacher.”_

_“He must be dying,” Scorpius says absently, and misses the way Albus flinches. “Centaurs always return to their herd on the brink of their death, and are welcomed in with open arms regardless of past transgressions. Either that or there’s a baby centaur on the way. So, we have to work together?”_

_Albus ducks his head, hands clenching and unclenching uselessly. “I could always ask for a change in partners, if you’d prefer. Professor Cosima would probably understand if you didn’t want to work with me.”_

_“Why wouldn’t I want to work with you?” Scorpius asks, nonplussed._

_“I know how smart you are.”_

_“That has no relevance here, and it wasn’t a compliment either, so I don’t know how to respond.”_

_Albus blinks at him. “Has anyone told you that you sound a little like a robot?”_

_“A robot?” Scorpius tries to think. “That’s a form of advanced technology, isn’t it? We’ve only just begun to study technology in Muggle Studies. We were studying culture last year, and social structures.”_

_“You take Muggle Studies?”_

_Scorpius tilts his head. “Does your surprise come from the fact that I’m in Slytherin, or that I’m a Malfoy?”_

_Albus looks briefly guilty, and then he shrugs, turning back to his desk. His star chart is mostly incomplete, which is unsurprising considering he was supposed to be in Divination, and not Astronomy, although the two are connected, and Scorpius can see why the classes were pushed together. Professor Cosima has a great-great-grandmother that was a Seer when she was alive, so it makes sense, from a logical point of view, to ask her to fill in. Scorpius doesn’t have an affinity for Divination – he likes facts, and proper information, and Divination is flaky at best. Still, the pursuit of knowledge itself is fun, and there’s a part of him that’s excited by this project._

_He’s just not too sure about Albus Potter._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis interrupts their study session in the library. He glares at a third year Ravenclaw until the girl squeaks and runs out of the room, and then he steals the abandoned chair and drags it over to their table. Scorpius scowls down at his book as Louis drapes himself dramatically over the chair and sighs deeply, the sound ruining the quiet, calm atmosphere that Scorpius has grown used to over the past thirty minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so. From now on, the italicised parts are sections from their second year, when Al and Scorpius meet for the first time. It follows their relationship as it progresses due to a Divination/Astronomy Project, and will highlight how they've evolved and give comparisons to the present stuff, which is the main story. It's not really two stories, it's just a way of showing the differences between their friendship and how it changes, and how they grow to love each other, etc. I just thought you'd like to know! 
> 
> And thank you so much for the lovely response, I hope you like this next chapter! I'm sorry for the long space between updates, I have other stories on the go and a Winter Fic Exchange thing for Shadowhunters to write, so I'm busy! But hopefully things will be more regular now :) Thank you!! Enjoy!

Louis interrupts their study session in the library. He glares at a third year Ravenclaw until the girl squeaks and runs out of the room, and then he steals the abandoned chair and drags it over to their table. Scorpius scowls down at his book as Louis drapes himself dramatically over the chair and sighs deeply, the sound ruining the quiet, calm atmosphere that Scorpius has grown used to over the past thirty minutes.

Scorpius _likes_ the library. He likes the quiet and the warmth, and the way it feels like he can’t make mistakes in here. He’s not a disaster of a human when he’s curled up at a table, reading something about the far-off lands he’s yet to visit. This place is brimming with ideas and stories and adventures, and none of them include a hopeless boy sneaking glances at his best friend over a tower of books. None of them are familiar, and yet this place still feels like a second home.

Louis sighs loudly again, and Scorpius grits his teeth.

Al glances up at Scorpius briefly, something like a warning in his eyes, and then he turns to Louis and raises an eyebrow quizzically. “Why are you here?”

Louis puts a hand on his heard, adopting an affronted look. “I’m hurt, Albus. No love for your favourite cousin?”

Al just looks at him, waiting, the side of his mouth turned up. Louis deflates eventually, sagging into the chair and yet still managing to look effortlessly graceful. Scorpius would love to hate him simply because Louis takes up a lot of Al’s attention, and he turns Lysander into even more of an arrogant idiot then he usually is, but Louis is also funny in a way that makes it impossible not to laugh, and he doesn’t give a shit about who Scorpius is, or that he’s a Malfoy, or that he’s in Slytherin, and he is _fiercely_ protective of Al.

“Fine,” Louis whines. “I’m bored. Entertain me.”

“It’s a Hogsmeade weekend,” Al says, leaning down to cross his last sentence out. “I thought you’d be out on a date. Or at least, you know, out there with a bunch of admirers feeding you grapes and carrying your shopping bags for you.”

“As deliciously wonderful as that sounds,” Louis says, with a wry smile, “I seem to have found myself dateless.”

Scorpius stops pretending to edit his essay and looks up, both of his eyebrows making a bid for freedom as they climb up his forehead. Even Al, who has the best poker face in Hogwarts, looks surprised. Louis has a bitter look in his eyes as he drums his polished, purple nails against the table, not meeting either of their gazes.

“Who was the unlucky target?” Scorpius asks, unable to help himself. He gets two matching glares and flinches, cursing his own mouth. “That wasn’t quite what I meant to say. I was going for humour.”

Louise keeps glaring. “You’re lucky you’re pretty, Malfoy, or I’d curse your face green. Albus, what are you doing?”

“Yes, what _are_ you doing?” Scorpius asks, alarm growing as Al starts to pack his bag up.

“We’re going to go to Hogsmeade, have a drink, and then buy everything in Honeydukes,” Al says firmly. He gives Scorpius a pointed look, and Scorpius groans as Louis perks up, delight blooming across his face. “Pack your stuff up. We can finish the essays later. Unless you’d rather stay in here by yourself?”

It’s a genuine question, and Scorpius is slightly tempted. He knows Al wouldn’t mind, not really, if Scorpius declined the offer and stayed inside, but he also knows that they’d both be a lot less miserable if Scorpius went along with it. He’s not really one for crowds or socialising when it involves going out to places, and when it involves people other than his close friends. He’s never exactly been good at knowing what to say, and he tends to ramble on and on about Ancient Runes, until they get bored and talk over him.

He has no idea why Al listens, why he sticks around even when Scorpius makes a fool of himself, or drops his food, or walks into doors.

Scorpius sighs. “I’ll come with you, but you have to buy me a butterbeer.”

“Deal,” Al says.

“Not you,” Scorpius says, jerking his head at Louis. “Him. The rich one.”

“ _Him_ has a name,” Louis says, wrinkling his nose. “But fine.”

Hogsmeade isn’t as awful as Scorpius is expecting. There’s lots of people about, but they duck into the Hog’s Head rather than The Three Broomsticks and drink butterbeer in a patch of dusty sunlight. The barman looks at Al strangely, but doesn’t say anything, and Scorpius can feel himself relaxing.

“So, go on then,” Al says, once they’re settled. He gestures at Louis with his drink. “Tell us about the guy you couldn’t get. Or girl, whoever.”

Louis doesn’t slump. He doesn’t slouch or shrug or do anything that might potentially damage his perfect posture, but right now, Scorpius finds himself shocked as Louis sinks into the seat and mumbles something incoherent into his drink, his head practically receding into his neck as he ducks down.

“I couldn’t hear that,” Al says, adjusting his glasses. “On account of you imitating a turtle.”

Louis glares at him, head poking back out from under his robes.

“Just _tell_ us,” Scorpius says, fed up. He’s never been as patient as Al. “Merlin, what could go wrong? You might even feel better.”

Louis hesitates, sparing Scorpius a glance, and Scorpius blinks at him. And then he gets it, and he groans. Louis grimaces back at him, and Scorpius downs his drink in one go. Al looks between them in confusion, glasses slipping down his nose even as he pushes them back up with his middle finger.

“What?” Al asks. “What’s going on?”

“Really?” Scorpius says, pulling a face at Louis. “ _Lysander?_ But he’s such an ass! And I thought you both hated each other.”

“Oh, I’m sure _he_ hates _me_ ,” Louis mutters, glowering at the table. “And you’re right, he’s an ass. A complete and utter ass. And I _don’t_ like him. He makes a fool out of himself wherever he goes, and he’s never properly dressed. He’s always got his buttons undone and that stupid tie is never around his fat neck where it belongs! Honestly, how could I like someone who doesn’t take a speck of pride in his appearance? Ridiculous.”

Al and Scorpius share a wide-eyed look. Neither of them have ever really had a relationship, and Scorpius especially doesn’t know what to do about the way Louis is drooping, his mouth set in a miserable line.

 _Help me_ , Al mouths.

Scorpius shrugs helplessly.  Al rolls his eyes and turns back to Louis, who’s watching them both with a raised eyebrow.

“Very subtle, boys,” Louis says, sipping his drink. “We’ll make Aurors out of you yet.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say,” Scorpius says bluntly, offering them both an apologetic look.

“Malfoy, your social skills are atrocious,” Louis says. “Isn’t Lysander supposed to be your friend?”

“He’s one of my best friends,” Scorpius says warily. “I've known him since I was little. He’s a good guy.”

“You just said he was an ass.”

“Well, he is an ass.” Scorpius shrugs. “So are you. So am I. Even Al is, sometimes. But Lysander’s a good guy, too. Maybe you could focus on the good stuff rather than all the bad things that you don’t like about him. How he dresses isn’t everything. Or do you just not like how he looks?”

“I like his face just fine,” Louis snaps. “I’m not completely shallow, anyway.”

“Maybe Scorpius could help you,” Al says pointedly. “If you knew the good stuff, you might feel better about liking him.”

They both turn to look at Scorpius intently, and he holds up his hands in surrender. “Shouldn’t that be something that you learn for yourself, from him? I mean, isn’t that how relationships work?”

Louis pulls a face. “Don’t swear at me Malfoy. Ugh. _Relationships_.”

Scorpius rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to be so dramatic about it.”

“I’m dramatic about everything.”

“Look, you both flirt with each other like the world’s on fire and it’s the last thing you’re ever going to say,” Scorpius says impatiently. “You like his face, and according to you, _everyone_ likes your face, so that’s half the battle won. Just talk to him, alright?”

Louis blinks at him in disdain. “That’s all you’ve got? _Talk_ to him? I thought you were supposed to be this crazy genius, Malfoy. Al, you said he was a cra-”

“Louis,” Al hisses, with a pointed, slightly panicked look. “Just say thank you and drink your beer.”

Louis sighs dramatically. “Thank you and drink your beer.”

“Oh, _that’s_ mature.”

“Oh, for the love of…” Al throws his hands up, defeated. “Whatever. I give up. You both suck.”

“Only for the right price,” Louis smirks.

“I don’t want to know,” Scorpius says hurriedly, putting up a hand as though he can physically force the conversation to stop. “I _do_ want another drink, though.”

“Louis, give me your money,” Al says, standing up. He makes a beckoning motion with his hands until Louis grudgingly hands over a bunch of coins.

“Get me something stronger,” Louis mutters, and Al snorts as he strides up to the bar, leaving Scorpius and Louis in awkward silence. Scorpius twiddles his thumbs and wishes he had his book with him. Louis seems to grow smaller, sinking into his chair as his frown becomes more pronounced, and Scorpius genuinely doesn’t know what to say.

“So, did he turn you down?” he asks eventually, and then winces.

“ _Merlin_ , Malfoy, you really need to work on your tact,” Louis says. “No, he didn’t turn me down.”

Scorpius furrows his brow. “I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t _ask_ him,” Louis says. “I was going to. I even put my best jeans on, the ones that are really tight, you know, to intimidate him. Not because I wanted to look good for him, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Scorpius agrees, grinning.

“I went to look for him in Entrance Hall and he was kissing some girl.” Louis scowls. “She wasn’t even a _real_ blonde; no amount of Sleakeasy could hide those roots. Lysander didn’t seem to care though. I stormed off, naturally, and came to ruin your day.”

“Like the mature adult you are,” Scorpius agrees.

Lysander gives him a scathing look. “ _Well?_ Who was the fake blonde?”

Scorpius grimaces. “You mean Jenny. They’re, uh – they’re not serious. They just go together when they don’t have anyone else to go with. Like a friends with benefits thing. I think that's the term, anyway. Maybe if you ask him sooner next time, you’ll get to go with him.”

“Are you implying that this is my fault?” Louis demands.

“No, I’m just _saying_. Merlin, stop glaring at me,” Scorpius says. He glances around desperately. “Oh look, Al. Great. Al, come and save me.”

“What did you do now?” Al says, dumping their drinks on the table. Scorpius snatches his up immediately and takes a huge gulp.

“I opened my mouth.”

“Ah, I see.” Al grins. “Look, Louis, why don’t you ask him to the party? Scorpius and Lysander are planning some kind of House Co-Operation party thing in a few days. You could ask him out then.”

Louis taps his chin thoughtfully. Then he narrows his eyes at Al and Scorpius in turn, a truly terrifying smile flickering across his face. “That’s not a completely horrendous plan, Albus.”

“I do try.”

“Drink your beer,” Louis says cheerfully, his bad mood mostly forgotten. “We’re going shopping. I need a new outfit for this party, and you two are in dire need of a makeover. Especially you, Malfoy. Honestly, for someone with such a stylish father, you’d think you would have at least heard of tailoring.”

Scorpius shudders. He has heard of tailoring, has suffered through many sessions of poking and prodding and measuring over the years, and the only bit he looks forward to regarding the whole affair is when he gets to sprint out of the shop at the end of it all.

He holds up his beer and says, “If we’re going shopping with _him_ , then I’m taking this with me.”

*

“We didn’t see you all weekend.”

Scorpius glances up from his book to stare at Lorcan, who’s narrowing his eyes at Scorpius’s plate. “Yeah, I got dragged to Hogsmeade by Al and Louis, and then I spent Sunday catching up on homework. Professor Aster game me a new book on Ancient Runes, with copies of these old scrolls inside them, so I spent the evening reading that as well.

Lysander perks up slightly at the mention of Louis, and Scorpius arches an eyebrow at him before ducking back behind his book.

“Scorpius, for the love of Merlin, will you just _eat_ your breakfast instead of stirring it around like that?”

Scorpius puts his book down with a sigh and shovels a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth with a pointed look at his friend.

“That’s disgusting,” Lorcan mutters, grimacing. “Chew with your mouth closed.”

Scorpius purposefully gnashes his teeth together loudly and tries not to think about what his mother might say if she could see him now. Something about how _manners maketh the man,_ no doubt, but Scorpius is still technically a boy in the eyes of the law, so he chooses to ignore it.

“Stop mothering him,” Lysander says, poking at his own breakfast unenthusiastically. “It always backfires, and then I have to listen to you two whine at each other for the rest of the year.”

“Unnecessary hyperbole,” Scorpius mutters, picking his book back up and hiding behind it. It’s not a particularly interesting book, because Scorpius has already read it three times (and taken notes, and memorised all of the important chapters with regards to his exams) but it was the first thing he had grabbed in a rush before coming down to breakfast, and it beats listening to Lorcan scold him over nothing.

“That’s the nature of hyperbole,” Lorcan says, rolling his eyes. “It’s _unnecessary_ exaggeration.”

“Oh please,” Lysander groans, dropping his head into his hands. “Both of you just shut up and eat your breakfast, before I lock you in the Room of Requirement again.”

Scorpius shudders, and Lorcan glances at him over the book, cheeks growing rather pink. Eight hours trapped in a faulty room with only each other for company, right after they had a huge argument, had been Scorpius’s idea of hell on earth, and apparently Lorcan had agreed, because they’d called a temporary truce as soon as Lysander let them back out again. Scorpius still hasn’t figured out how Lysander managed to control the damn room without being inside it, and the only other person who might know is his father, but every time Scorpius mentions the Room of Requirement, his father grows pale and quiet.

“I’m still bitter about that,” Scorpius tells Lysander. “And I’ve enlisted Al to help me with my revenge.”

“You just dunked your tie in your juice.” Lysander smirks.

Scorpius looks down and swears, yanking his tie out and spilling his drink in the process. Pumpkin Juice spreads everywhere, and he sighs. Lorcan glowers at them both as he vanishes the mess.

“No revenge at breakfast, please,” Lorcan says.

“Oh, I forgot. Mum wrote us a letter,” Lysander says. He digs around in his bag and pulls out a crumpled piece of bright yellow parchment. Lorcan snatches it from him and wrinkles his nose at the state of the letter, smoothing out the parchment with a quick, muttered spell and shooting Lysander an aggravated look.

“Peanut brought it,” Lysander says defensively, holding up his hands in surrender. “He dove straight into the window before I had a chance to open it, and then he dropped the letter in my coffee. I cleaned it up already, don’t be such a baby.”

Scorpius smiles from behind his book. He likes Peanut, the giant brown owl with no spacial awareness that belongs to Luna Lovegood, the twins’ mother. Peanut likes to try and perch on peoples’ shoulders despite being twice the size of their heads, and it never fails to make Scorpius laugh. The Scamander’s have a variety of owls – Jelly, House, and Cracker, all named by the twins when they were younger – but Peanut is by far Scorpius’s favourite.

Lorcan reads the letter twice, frowning, and then slides it across the table to Scorpius, who takes it hesitantly.

“I can’t believe they’re going on another expedition without us,” Lorcan whines. “Dad promised he was going to wait for the next holiday before they went travelling again!”

Lysander shrugs. “Quibbler’s got to have articles on something, doesn’t it? They can’t write about what they haven’t done, idiot.”

“Half-wit.”

“Moron.”

“Cretin.”

Scorpius winces as one of them shoves the other, and a scuffle breaks out at the table. Not a single person looks surprised. Scorpius watches a jar of marmalade roll down the table and then sighs, busying himself with the letter. He always feels a bit odd, reading the Lovegood’s letters, but it’s become a tradition over the years, and Luna always leaves some kind of postscript at the bottom for Scorpius specifically, which makes Scorpius feel warm. He’s always liked Luna – she’s fascinating and clever, and she likes to talk about the things that Scorpius likes to talk about. She’s also good friends with his father, which means that she appears every now and again at the Manor with tubs of fudge and treacle tart. Draco can never eat the fudge, but Scorpius loves the texture, and views it as a challenge.

“Scorpius?”

Scorpius reaches for his bag automatically. Al usually walks with Scorpius to class on a Tuesday, on the days that Scorpius makes it to breakfast – except that today is a Wednesday, and there’s something different about Al’s voice that makes Scorpius glance up. His eyebrows rise without his permission. The person standing beside him is definitely not Al.

Frank Longbottom fidgets with the strap of his bag, and then hands Scorpius a note.

“That’s for you,” Frank says, rather unnecessarily. “It's a list of people who want to know about that party you’re planning, for the Slytherin’s and Ravenclaw’s. It’s just that Al’s going, so I was wondering if some other Hufflepuff’s could come as well. In the spirit of House Unity, you know.”

“Sure,” Scorpius says, a little bewildered. “The more the merrier. Just try not to let it get back to the teachers, although McGonagall probably already knows. That woman knows everything.”

Frank’s face breaks out into a grin. “Yeah, I always said she should have been a hawk, not a cat. I’ll see you at the party, then, yeah? You’ll be there, right? I mean, it’s your party, so obviously you’ll be there, but still.”

“Yeah, sure.” Scorpius waves as Frank walks away, beaming, and then turns back to the twins, who are both staring at him with wide eyes. “What?”

Lysander snorts. “Nothing. You’re so dumb, for such a smart person.”

“Why does everyone always say that?” Scorpius asks, exasperated. He gives the letter back to Lorcan, who snatches it with a sulky look and a glare at Frank, who’s almost out of the Hall.

“What was the postscript about?” Lysander asks.

“Pie,” Scorpius says, with a bemused grin. “Pie and Bowtruckles. I think she was talking to your Great-Grandfather again.”

“Probably,” Lysander says. Then he glances down at his watch and shoots up out of his chair. He tries to be subtle about it, but half of the Ravenclaw table look up in amusement when he bangs his leg against the table and then trips over the bench with a yell.

“Gotta meet someone,” Lysander yelps, and then sprints away.

Lorcan sighs long-sufferingly. “How long do you think it will take him to realise that he’s forgotten his bag?”

“Depends how long it takes him to get to Louis, wherever he is this morning,” Scorpius says cheerily. “You’d think Louis would find it creepy, what with Lysander always popping up wherever he happens to be, but I think he actually _likes_ it. Still, at least I wasn’t the clumsy one this morning.”

He puffs himself up a little proudly, and then deflates when Lorcan says, fondly, “You have jam on your face.”

Scorpius stares mournfully at his plate of scrambled eggs. "I'm not even eating jam." 

*

_Scorpius is tucking into his toast when someone taps him on the shoulder. He starts violently, elbowing his spoon off the table and dropping his toast back on the plate. When he looks up, Albus is holding the spoon he dropped._

_“Thank you,” Scorpius says politely, aware that his friends are watching him. “Did you need something?”_

_Albus bites his lip and fidgets with his bag. “I was wondering about our project. I’d like to start it as soon as you can, if that’s alright?”_

_“Oh,” Scorpius says, brightening up. “Well, I already started to do an outline, naturally, and I’ve got a few lists and ideas for charts and questionnaires.”_

_Albus blinks at him. “Naturally.”_

_“We could meet in the library to do the initial research and make a few decisions,” Scorpius suggests, excitement kindling within him. He’s got a thousand ideas burning in his brain, and his fingers are itching to get to work, but Albus already looks rather overwhelmed by his enthusiasm. He tries to tone it down a little by folding his hands together in his lap and straightening up, trying out his professional look, but Albus just looks more and more wrong-footed._

_“That sounds great,” Albus says, after a moment of slightly awkward silence. “When do you want to meet up?”_

_“At lunch?”_

_Albus nods and starts to back away, lifting his hand in a sort-of wave that falls flat. Scorpius smiles politely and then turns back to his book, only for it to be snatched away a moment later by a gleeful Lysander, who holds it up out of reach._

_“You never told us you were paired with Potter,” Lysander says, still grinning. “I knew the classes got combined, but I didn’t know you had a project.”_

_Scorpius looks at him, confused. “I didn’t see that it was relevant. It’s just a project, after all. You have partnered projects all the time in Potions.”_

_“Yeah, but I’m not you, am I?”_

_“Well, obviously,” Scorpius says. “You cannot be two people at once. Although interestingly, the Muggles have records of a disorder that causes a fracture in a –”_

_“You seemed pretty excited about the project.” Lorcan’s voice is inexplicably cold, and Lysander winces, lowering the book. Scorpius looks between them with increasing confusion, but no explanation seems forthcoming. Lorcan has both arms folded over his chest and he refuses to look at either of them, his face an impassive mask. Lysander sighs, handing Scorpius back his book._

_“Sometimes we go to the Potter-Weasley holiday dinners,” Lysander says, cutting up the last of his pancake and ignoring his silent brother. “They always invite our mum and dad. I know James and Freddie and Roxy, but Al never says much. He just kinda stands around all awkwardly, like he did a minute ago.”_

_“Does he have friends?” Scorpius asks, glancing in the direction that Albus had disappeared in. Scorpius had dismissed him at first as ordinary, plain, but the boy is growing more and more curious by the second, and Scorpius can feel that familiar nagging sensation at the back of his mind that demands more information._

_“A couple, I think,” Lysander says. “I know he’s close with Louis, the blonde bimbo in Gryffindor.”_

_“Who cares?” Lorcan asks viciously. He stands up abruptly and storms out of the Great Hall, kicking the bench as he goes and leaving a bewildered Scorpius behind. A few of Scorpius’s classmates watch him go with interest, their gazes calculating, and Scorpius knows that Orla Parkinson, at least, will say something insufferable in the common room later. He’s grown used to it, though, over the past few years of family tea-parties, and now it only bothers him if she interferes with his homework._

_“Did I do something?” Scorpius asks, feeling unusually nervous. He gets along with most of his classmates, but Lysander and Lorcan have been his closest friends for years, long since before they started Hogwarts together. He spends half of his summers at their house, fishing for Plimpies in the lazy afternoon sun, and in turn they come to visit him and explore the twisting pathways under the Manor. They share books and revise together, and next year they’ll be able to go to Hogsmeade together on the weekends. And maybe it’s a bit more difficult, because Scorpius is in Slytherin and the twins are both in Ravenclaw, but they take it in turns to eat with other regardless, and they do their homework together in both common rooms._

_And maybe they aren’t as close as Scorpius always imagined he would be if he ever found a best friend, but they _are_ his friends, and he doesn’t want to ruin that, accidentally or not. He’s not sure what he would do with himself if he did. _

_Lysander sighs heavily. “Nothing unusual, buddy. He’s just in a bit of a mood, that’s all.”_

_Scorpius doesn’t believe him, and Lysander knows this, so they both sit there, knowing things that they wish they didn’t and pretending that the silence isn’t uncomfortable. Eventually it gets too much and Scorpius sighs sharply, slamming the book down on the table and leaning forward to interrogate Lysander, when the other boy jumps up with surprising energy._

_“We better get to class,” he says hurriedly, and then beats a hasty retreat out of the hall, bag slung over one shoulder._

_There are still ten minutes before class. Scorpius takes his time to get his things together. He puts his book back in his bag and checks that his essay is still safely tucked inside, and he ponders Lorcan’s stone-cold behaviour and Lysander’s reluctance to tell him anything, and he comes up empty. He has no idea why Lorcan might be mad, and it’s frustrating, but he simply doesn’t have enough facts to piece together the puzzle. It’s possible that Lorcan doesn’t like Albus Potter, but as Lysander said, none of them really know the boy well._

_“Are you alright, Malfoy?”_

_He waves a hand at whichever classmate asked him, lost in thought. It’s only two weeks into the first term of their fifth year, and things are already turning into a bit of a puzzle._

_Scorpius has never found a puzzle that he couldn’t solve before._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was that? I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you thought here via a comment or a kudos, or come and say hello on tumblr @thealmostrhetoricalquestion. I really appreciate it! Thank you! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scorpius eyes Al’s shoulder suspiciously. Ronald, the bright orange Pygmy Puff, glares back at Scorpius from his perch next to Al’s ear. Every time Al looks up to stroke Ronald or feed him a treat, the Pygmy Puff sways innocently and chirps sweetly until Al looks away, and then it goes back to glaring daggers at Scorpius.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some anxiety and a description of a panic attack in this chapter, in the third scene, after the words 'Five minutes later' and ending at the end of that scene, at the little star, so if you don't want to read that, then please skip that part and don't make yourself uncomfortable. Your safety is important. Please tell me what you thought and if you think I need to alter anything, or if I've made any mistakes, but do it kindly, I'd really appreciate that. And I'm sorry for the long wait, I hope you still enjoy this chapter! Thank you so much!
> 
> May I just say that I'm not sure how well-written the anxiety is, because it's all written from my own experiences, so if you feel something doesn't add up then I'm sorry, but how Scorpius experiences it/deals with it is exactly how I do, and I decided to write that purely for the sake of ease.

Scorpius eyes Al’s shoulder suspiciously. Ronald, the bright orange Pygmy Puff, glares back at Scorpius from his perch next to Al’s ear. Every time Al looks up to stroke Ronald or feed him a treat, the Pygmy Puff sways innocently and chirps sweetly until Al looks away, and then it goes back to glaring daggers at Scorpius.

“I hate your stupid ball of fluff,” Scorpius says, slipping off the armchair and onto the rug and bashing his leg against the table in the process, almost knocking everything onto the floor. “Why couldn’t you have an owl or a cat like a normal person?”

Al sighs and lifts his essay, which is now wet with spilled ink, off the table and siphons away the ink with his wand. Scorpius offers him a sheepish, apologetic smile, rubbing his newly bruised knee.

“The stupid ball of fluff is called Ronald, as was the condition under which I was allowed to buy him,” Al says patiently. “And you know perfectly well that James has the family owl most of the time, and cats make me sneeze. Besides, Ronald’s never done anything wrong in his entire life, have you Ronald?”

He feeds Ronald another treat, crooning softly. Scorpius wants to flick the stupid ball of fluff across the room, and possibly out of the window, or perhaps strap it to a broomstick. Ronald stares at him intently, beady little eyes narrowed as though he knows exactly what Scorpius is thinking.

“You’re blinded by love,” Scorpius accuses. “And extremely biased. Why did you have to call him that anyway?”

Al grins, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Dad said that if I was going to bring back something that malts like crazy and would probably get stepped on within five minutes, then I had to at least buy an orange one and name it after Uncle Ron. You should have seen his face when I introduced them. Dad couldn’t stop laughing, and even Aunt Hermione found it funny. Mum brings it up every time Uncle Ron annoys her, which is often.”

Scorpius snorts with laughter, returning briefly to his own essay as a thought occurs to him suddenly. When he looks back up, Al is watching him fondly.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Al says, grinning. “You’re just so scatter-brained.”

“You’ve known me for how many years now? If this is the first time you’re realising this, then I think you’re the one who’s got issues, not me.”

“You don’t have issues. Merlin, it must be about four or five years now,” Al says thoughtfully, tapping his quill against his chin. He leaves behind a smear of ink just below his lip and Scorpius has to fight not to lean up and wipe it away.

“Four and a half years,” Scorpius repeats. He whistles lowly. “Wow, four and a half years and you haven’t killed me yet. It must be a miracle.”

“Do you remember when I first met you? In Astronomy? You ignored me for almost half an hour and then accused me of being too quiet.”

“It wasn’t half an hour,” Scorpius protests. “It was ten minutes, at the most, and you _were_ being quiet, or else I wouldn’t have ignored you. I thought you’d gone off to find a new partner.”

“Why would I have done that?”

“Because I’m me,” Scorpius says, laughing. “And I was probably muttering about star signs with this expression on my face.” He pulls an extremely serious face that ends up looking a bit constipated, and Al bites back laughter. When Scorpius uncrosses his eyes, he catches Al’s gaze, and after a split second they both burst into helpless laughter, the kind that comes with late nights and overtiredness, when everything seems silly and funny. A seventh year girl across the room shushes them fiercely, which only makes them laugh harder.

Scorpius rolls onto his back on the rug, still snickering quietly, wiping his eyes. After a moment, Al slips off the armchair and collapses on the floor beside him, and Scorpius can feel his heart begin to trip over itself at the closeness. Ronald the Pygmy Puff squeaks as he slides down Al’s shoulder and onto the floor, where he fixes them both with a disgruntled look before exploring their nest of discarded sweet wrappers with bright curiosity.

Scorpius can admit, if only to himself, that the stupid ball of fluff is kind of cute. He kind of wants to pet it, to see how soft the fur is, but he also doesn’t want to get his fingers bitten off by a vengeful pom-pom.

“You being you is exactly why I stayed,” Al says, after a moment. “I wish you wouldn’t say stuff like that about yourself.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You made me curious. You didn’t seem to know what to do when faced with another person, and your face was practically glued to that telescope the whole time. I liked it, that you found something so interesting that it took up all your attention.”

“Yeah?” Scorpius asks, softer this time.

“You don’t do Astronomy as much anymore. You used to be up in that tower practically every night. What changed?”

 _You,_ Scorpius wants to say. It’s too cheesy, so he keeps it to himself, but it’s the truth. Astronomy had been his escape from a House that looked down on him, his reprieve from classmates that laughed when he tripped or stuttered or knocked something over or broke something. He had only been twelve when he met Al properly. He had Lorcan and Lysander, but they were in a different House and a different league, and their friendship was different, somehow, and so Scorpius often found himself spending time alone. It was impossible to feel lonely, though, staring up at something so big and vast and full of light and mystery. Astronomy had been his escape, and then Al had come along, and Scorpius hadn’t needed it as much anymore. He still needs something, to keep his mind busy, to hold his interest, but he has _more_ now.

He doesn’t say that, though. Instead, he watches Al turn his head so that his cheek is resting on the rug, glasses askew, green eyes fixed on Scorpius. It’s like the world shrinks until it’s just them, and Scorpius can’t look away. Al still has that smear of ink near his mouth. Unthinkingly, Scorpius reaches out, swiping his thumb gently along Al’s chin, the pad of his thumb catching on his bottom lip and lingering there. Al swallows audibly in the silence.

“Oh Merlin,” says the seventh year girl, slamming her books closed. Scorpius jumps, yanking his hand away, and Al shoots up abruptly, his face glowing.

“Sorry, Haley,” Al mutters sheepishly, obviously embarrassed. The girl rolls her eyes before stalking towards the stairs, books tucked under her arms, leaving them alone in the common room. Scorpius sits up, stretching, his mind thrumming as he thinks over the past few minutes. Al scoops up Ronald and prises a shiny wrapper out of his mouth.

“You’re a Pygmy Puff, not a Niffler,” Al says sternly. He puts Ronald back on his shoulder and the stupid ball cuddles up to his ear, staring at Scorpius smugly. Scorpius sticks his tongue out, only to be caught by Al’s arched eyebrow.

“He started it,” Scorpius says mulishly.

*

The space behind the suit of armour is too small for both of them to fit comfortably, even though there’s little to no space between them and they’re both wearing the invisibility cloak. Scorpius has Al’s elbow practically embedded in his stomach and is being forcibly reminded of his dislike of people in his personal space every time he breathes. It’s not so bad with Al, but the elbow is still uncomfortable.

“He’s going to do it,” Al says, clutching Scorpius’ sleeve. “He’s going to ask him.”

Louis is at the end of the corridor, leaning against the wall in a way that’s supposed to be casual but actually just looks awkward and slightly painful. His blonde hair is swept up out of his face but there are a few strands falling into his eyes. A few girls walking past on their way to class giggle appreciatively, and Louis winks at them, just as Lysander comes out of the classroom door beside him.

Scorpius groans as Lysander’s face turns stormy, his gaze flicking between Louis and the girls. “That’s a great start. Are you sure it’s a good idea to get them together? They’re both complete idiots, and they’re both dramatic as hell, and they’ve both got a jealous streak a mile wide.”

“And a nasty temper,” Al adds, wincing as Lysander presumably says something scathing. Louis bristles and straightens up, snapping something back. Scorpius groans again, dropping his forehead onto Al’s shoulder.

“Not exactly a good match, is it?” Scorpius says.

Al makes a shocked noise, and then a deliberating one. He sounds amused when he speaks, “Either that, or it’s a perfect one.” He nudges Scorpius slightly, and when Scorpius doesn’t move, Al yanks him up by the hair.

“Oi,” Scorpius grumbles, and then he follows Al’s finger and his mouth drops open. “Oh.”

Louis is _kissing_ Lysander.

“ _Oh_ is right,” Al says, laughing. His face lights up when he laughs, and Scorpius gets stuck looking at him. He has a feeling there’s a goofy smile on his face, but he can’t stop it, and more importantly, he doesn’t really want to.

“Wow,” Al says, after a moment, wincing. “They’re really going at it.”

Scorpius turns to look and winces too. There’s a lot of shoving against walls and moaning going on. He’s not quite sure if Louis is going to rip all of Lysander’s hair out before Lysander eats Louis’ face, but it will be a close call either way. Scorpius has never really understood why people seem to like kissing so much; it looks disgusting, to be frank, and awkward.

“Merlin, that’s terrifying,” Scorpius says. “Should we…?”

“Leave? Yes, definitely,” Al says.

*

The party is in full swing by the time Scorpius gets back from the kitchens. He has the invisibility cloak folded over his shoulders, borrowed from Al, and a fresh crate of sweets and pumpkin pasties in his arms. He sheds the cloak and places the crate onto the table, to a round of cheering, and he’s almost trampled as people swarm over to him in their haste to reach the food.

“Merlin, why did I ever think this was a good idea,” Scorpius mutters as he attempts to shrug his way out of the crowd without touching anyone. His heart is already tripping over itself at the thought of all these people around him, and the noise level is much too high, making his skin prickle. He can see Lorcan tucked away in the corner, a bottle clutched in his hands as he chats quietly to a pretty Ravenclaw girl. Lysander is in the fray, dancing under the sparkly silver streamers to the loud, insistent beat of the music. Scorpius grins, shaking his head, and then cranes his neck until he spots Al sitting at the bottom of the steps. He weaves his way over to him and greets Al with a bottle of butterbeer.

“Having fun?” Al inquires, taking the bottle and the invisibility cloak back. Scorpius nods and clinks their bottles together before taking a large gulp. The warmth floods through him as he swallows, and it feels like hot froth all the way down his throat. He can’t help but smile.

“Not even slightly, but I didn’t do it for me,” Scorpius says, shrugging. “It’s supposed to be a House Unity thing, but you know I don’t like parties.”

“Too much noise,” Al agrees, sipping his butterbeer. “It’s nice, though.”

Indoor fireworks start to crackle in the corner, sending up big wreaths of colourful sparks that snap and pop in time with the music. There’s glitter falling in a constant stream from the ceiling and lights flashing all over the place, sending streaks of light over Al’s face. There’s too much noise and light and colour, and Scorpius can feel himself getting agitated. His palms are sweating already and his head feels like someone is shoving hot spokes through it, into the mushy, sensitive parts of his brain, but he can’t leave yet. He only just got here after escaping to the kitchens for a while, and he can’t leave Al on his own.

He turns away from the party and looks at Al instead, smoothing his hands along his trousers, trying to ground himself.

Al’s got glitter in his hair but he’s dressed normally, in a pair of dark jeans and a t-shirt. He’s still the prettiest thing in the room.

Scorpius takes another gulp of his butterbeer to drown out his thoughts. He’s got to stop thinking like this; Al is his best friend, and it’s not like anything’s going to happen. Scorpius isn’t even sure he wants something to happen. He’s never let himself think about it. It’s safer that way. And it’s not like what he has now isn’t good. It’s _great_ , in fact. Al is his best friend, and that’s all he’ll ever be, and Scorpius has to get used to that.

Lysander stumbles towards them, a drink held up high in his hands. “Scorpius! Best idea we’ve ever had. Best idea _I’ve_ ever had. Have you seen this? Everyone’s being nice to each other. Everyone!”

“You’re drunk,” Scorpius says, smiling fondly. His heartbeat slows a little, although the agitation remains.

“Possibly,” Lysander agrees, listing a bit to the side. Scorpius stands and manoeuvres Lysander into the spot beside Al, who watches the process with amusement. Lysander leans over and steals Al’s drink, taking advantage of the moment to whisper something in Al’s ear, something that Scorpius can’t hear over the music. It must have been something good though, because Al flushes a deep red and ducks his head. For some reason, the sight of them together sets something off inside Scorpius, something that twists his stomach into knots.

“How come you’re not with Louis?” Scorpius asks. “We saw you two kissing the other day, so I figured you were coming to the party together. Or did you get so distracted by his mouth that you forgot to actually ask him? He can’t be that good of a kisser, surely.”

“Scorpius, my good fellow, you have absolutely no idea,” Lysander says grandly, with a dramatic sweep of his hands.

“You really are drunk, aren’t you?”

“He said he was going to come by a little later,” Al says. “He likes to make an entrance.”

Lysander suddenly gives an indignant squawk and sits up properly, squinting at Scorpius. “What do you mean, you saw us kissing? How did you see? The corridor was pretty much empty.”

“Pretty much,” Al agrees, smirking. “But not quite.”

“I can’t believe you spied on us,” Lysander says, gaping at them. “That was a private, romantic moment.”

“It was in the middle of a school corridor! Where, incidentally, there were innocent children that could have walked by and seen you both eating each others’ faces off, so it was hardly private or romantic.” Scorpius rolls his eyes when Lysander simply continues to look offended. “We were just waiting to see if Louis needed back-up, that’s all. He was nervous.”

Lysander gets a silly grin on his face. Al slaps a hand over his eyes, groaning. “I can’t watch this, it’s too sappy. Give me back my drink or go and dance until your boyfriend shows up.”

Lysander downs the butterbeer and hands the empty bottle back to Al, who stares at it blankly.

“I’ll go and get you another one,” Scorpius offers, and he ignores Al’s concerned stare as he leaves him alone with Lysander, who’s now draping himself over Al like a blanket and talking his ear off about Louis.

Five minutes later, and Scorpius is sidling out of the portrait door and standing in the cold, quiet corridor, taking deep, gasping breaths. He backs up until he hits a wall, slinking backwards so that he’s in the shadows rather than out in plain view and then rocks back and forth on his heels. There’s a jittering sensation in his body and he’s filled with the desperation to move, to drown it out, to make the world quiet again. He has just enough awareness to cast a Muffliato around him, and the noise of the party fades to a quiet buzz. Then he just rocks and waits, rocks and waits, rocks and waits, minute after minute, until the sharp, painful feeling of being _overwhelmed_ starts to fade.

He steps carefully down the corridor, veering right at the corner and making his way down a set of concealed stone steps. The Hufflepuff common room is a long way down, but this secret passage cuts through most of the castle and brings him out right near the kitchen.

He needs to send a letter to his father, and he needs to find Al and tell him where he’s gone, and he needs to finish his homework for Charms, but beyond all of that, he needs to lie down somewhere without any people, without any noise. He feels a little floaty, a little disconnected from the world, but mostly he just feels exhausted.

*

Scorpius’s blanket is smothering him. It’s the good kind of smothering, the kind that makes him feel weighed down and grounded, anchored to the earth instead of floating around inside his own mind. He runs his fingers over the smooth softness of the blanket, scratching so he can feel it under his nails. It’s heavy, one that his father bought for him when Scorpius was younger and struggling with anxiety, with the weight and noise of the world. He likes to hide under it when things get too much, drape it over him and feel safe, secure. He likes the texture of it under his fingers and against his skin. It’s distracting, but in a good way.

Al finds him like that an hour later and sits quietly on the end of Scorpius’ bed. One of the other Slytherin’s must have let him in – Al is as much of a permanent fixture in his common room as Scorpius is in the Hufflepuff common room, and the whole school knows it. There’s gentle, fleeting pressure on the bed, near his hand but not touching it, and then Al is speaking. His voice is soft and unintrusive, and best of all, there’s no pressure for Scorpius to respond. It’s just Al, talking quietly about his favourite book, the words almost indistinguishable.

They carry on like that for a while, and then Scorpius peeks his head out from under the blanket and finds Al leaning back against the bedpost. He’s playing with a stray thread on his sleeve, a small frown on his face, but he doesn’t look bored.

“I think the party was a bad idea,” Scorpius says, his voice a little hoarse. He feels inexplicably tired, even though he was well-rested when he woke up this morning.

Al smiles tenderly. “I think most of the people in the common room would disagree. I figured something happened when you didn’t come back.” There’s no remonstration in his voice, just quiet understanding. “How do you feel?”

Scorpius lets his eyes fall closed. “Tired. Like I flew a hundred laps around the Black Lake without stopping.”

“Do you want me to leave so you can get some sleep?”

Scorpius shakes his head, nudges his foot against Al’s ankle, draws it back again. “Stay.”

“Okay. Do you need a hug?”

“No.”

“Okay. Want me to read to you, or do you want me to stay quiet?”

“Quiet, please.”

“Okay.”

Scorpius rolls onto his back, manoeuvres one hand out of his blanket and pats the slim space on the bed beside him. Al squirms over, careful to keep his distance, and collapses next to him, the mattress bouncing. Their shoulders are just barely brushing each other. They lie together, in the semi-darkness, and when Scorpius rolls over again, looking for the bright green of Al’s eyes, he finds nothing but the thin traceries of veins over eyelids and soft, measured breathing.

He closes his eyes, and lets the sound lull him into sleep.

*

The envelope feels heavy, and he spends a few moments just running his fingers over the textured surface, feeling the fine threads of silver that Draco always gets embroidered into the parchment. Then he slits open the letter clumsily with his wand and opens it up. Something heavy falls into his lap, and he picks it up, squinting at it into confusion before he makes a garbled sound of delight.

It’s a necklace. Not too heavy, but weighty enough that he’ll know it’s there, strung on a thin leather cord. On the end of the cord is a glass yellow planet – Saturn – and when he turns the necklace in his hands, each ring spins in a different direction.

Scorpius has lots of toys like this. He has multicoloured squishy toys that bounce and morph into different shapes for him to squeeze. He has a chewable toy shaped like a chess piece that cleans itself regularly. He has strange interlocking puzzles that move and twist and turn and rearrange themselves when he’s finished with them. He even has rings on his fingers with a sprinkling of coloured sand partitioned between thin layers of glass, so he can watch it move when he spins them, but his favourite by far are the beads around his left wrist. Each one is soft, with a second layer that spins when he fiddles with it, and they have a pattern of moving stars and planets on the outer rim. He likes to watch the galaxies swirl and churn.

He's never had a proper necklace before, though.

He fiddles with it for a moment, a warm feeling rising in his chest, and then loops it around his neck before picking up the letter. It’s the usual stuff, talking about her work and his father’s latest job and asking about school and how he feels and if he needs anything, and there’s a small note at the bottom, from his father, which makes Scorpius smile.

_Remember, you’re my happy thought._

People always view Draco as cold, aloof, and he is, but he’s also Scorpius’ father. His father is not an overly soft person. He’s sharp and expectant and sneering, but he also loves his son, and he’s always been demonstrative about it, and he’s always been proud, so proud, even if sometimes Scorpius didn’t think he was worthy of that pride. He thinks of him, always, and he seems to always know when Scorpius is feeling upset, or having a particularly bad time. Enough to know when Scorpius needs a little reminder of exactly what Scorpius means to him. That when Draco faces his worst fears, Scorpius is what he thinks of to help him hold on.

Scorpius tucks the letter back in the envelope, spins the rings of his necklace, and smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was that? Please let me know what you thought and leave a kudos if you like, I'd love to hear from you. Thank you so much!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You," Scorpius blurts out. "You happened to me." 
> 
> Al's mouth drops open and then snaps shut again, apparently lost for words. 
> 
> "Oh Merlin," Rose says. "I do not need to be here for this." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! The next chapter should be the last, we are so close to the end! And this is the last little bit from the past, right at the end, as well. I thought it tied things up quite nicely. Also I'm really sorry for what I'm about to do to one of my favourite characters. Thank you so much for the response to the last chapter, I really hope you enjoy this one! :) Thank you!

There’s very little left of the day when Lorcan finds Scorpius sitting in the Astronomy Tower. He’s supposed to be working on his Charms homework, but Al is with Louis today, in the kitchens looking for food to get them through the evening, and they’ve been doing their Charms homework together, despite working on different spells. He’s distracted instead, looking up at the stars and tracing the shape of their stories in the night sky with his fingers, which is why he doesn’t hear Lorcan until he puts a hand gently on Scorpius’ shoulder, making him jump.

Lorcan swiftly takes his hands away and holds them up in an apology, and Scorpius is quick to smile at him. He moves his feet out of the little alcove he’s claimed as his own, and Lorcan folds himself into the space and tips his head back against the wall.

“Where did you go, after the party?” Lorcan asks.

“Back to my room, with Al.”

“Oh.” Lorcan twists the hem of his shirt in his hands. “Didn’t you enjoy the party?”

“I didn’t enjoy it at all. It got a bit much. Sensory overload.”

Lorcan nods a bit, twists his shirt, looks up at the sky, and Scorpius thinks that’s it. He doesn’t mind. They sit in silence for a little bit, quiet and comfortable.

“I’ve missed you,” Lorcan says, out of nowhere. Scorpius visibly startles, dragging his gaze away from the stars and staring at Lorcan, who looks back at him steadily. After a moment, Scorpius averts his gaze.

“What do you mean?” There’s something squirming in his stomach, and it’s not a good feeling. He feels weird, as though they’re on the edge of something he can’t name, but he knows he doesn’t want this conversation to happen. It feels like a moment that’s too big for them, something that belongs up there in the sky, with the cosmos and the vast, bright galaxies.

“You’re not really around much anymore,” Lorcan says carefully, slowly, measuring his words out. “I guess I’ve just missed how things used to be.”

Scorpius feels uneasy. “Nothing’s changed. I still go to the same classes, and do the same work, and speak to the same people. I still eat breakfast with you. I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

Lorcan’s face twists, but he says nothing.

“I don’t understand what that means,” Scorpius says plainly, and curls in on himself a little bit. He’s usually blind to this sort of thing, but there’s a tension in the air that he doesn’t like. It feels like Lorcan is about to _do_ something.

And then Lorcan does do something.

Scorpius tenses all over as Lorcan leans in and kisses him on the mouth. His eyes are closed, but Scorpius keeps his wide open, unable to breathe. He doesn’t feel anything except a sense of wrongness, and it doesn’t abate until Lorcan moves away. His eyes flutter open, and he takes a deep breath, staring straight at Scorpius, who fixes his wide-eyed gaze on Lorcan’s chin, away from his prying eyes.

“What did you do that for?” Scorpius asks, and Lorcan turns an angry shade of red.

“Because I wanted to,” he says. “Because I’ve wanted to for years, and because I miss you.”

Scorpius blurts out, “But I didn’t want you to.”

Lorcan goes white, and then he scrambles up off the floor so fast that he bangs his head on the alcove ceiling. He doesn’t even seem to notice as he races out of the tower. Scorpius sits for a moment, frozen, before he gets up too, a little slower. He feels weird and unsettled, like someone’s cut all the strings anchoring him to the ground. He never expected _this_. He never expected Lorcan to like him, not in that way. And he definitely didn’t mean to react in the wrong way, to say something that would hurt him.

It takes a fair few minutes to find Lorcan, jogging through corridors and trying to avoid the Prefects on their rounds. He tries the nearest empty classrooms, and it’s not until he pushes open the door to the seventh one that he finds Lorcan, sitting on a desk at the far end of the room, head buried in his hands.

“Go away,” Lorcan says thickly. “I don’t want you here right now.”

“I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Well, I’m not, okay? I’m sorry I kissed you when you obviously didn’t want me to, and I’m sorry I like you when you obviously don’t want me to, but I’m not okay and I don’t want to talk to you.”

“I’m sorry I hurt your feelings,” Scorpius says, swallowing hard. “I swear, I didn’t mean to say it like that. I was just surprised and confused.”

“But you meant it.”

Scorpius bites his lip, and then nods.

“Scorpius, go away,” Lorcan says, sighing heavily. “I don’t blame you, but please go away. Go and find your damn best friend and talk to him.”

“Why do you hate Al so much?” Scorpius asks, a little exasperated.

“Because you’re in love with him!”

The accusation, the shout, rings around the room, echoing in the silence. Scorpius blinks rapidly. Lorcan has his teeth gritted, his eyes scrunched up as he drags his hands harshly through his hair, his breath escaping in shirt, painful-sounding pants.

“What?” Scorpius swallows thickly. “I’m what?”

“You’re in love with Albus Potter,” Lorcan says miserably, without missing a beat. “You have been for years. I’ve been watching it happen, watching you fall in love and I kept telling myself that you were just friends, that it might not be completely hopeless, but you just have to look at you both to see the truth. We never had a chance. I can’t compete with him.”

“Compete,” Scorpius splutters, lost for words. “I’m not – _what_?”

Lorcan looks so sad, so ripped open as he sits down on the edge of a nearby desk. His chin rests on his chest and his hands grip each other tightly, and Scorpius is seized with the immediate urge to make him feel better, to paint a smile back on his friends’ face, to grasp his hands. He’s taken four steps forward before he realises that Lorcan doesn’t want him anywhere near him. Or perhaps, Lorcan rather _does_ want Scorpius near him, and that’s the problem.

“I wasn’t expecting a declaration of love, or anything,” Lorcan sniffs. “You don’t have to say anything. It was obvious for a long time that nothing was going to happen.”

“I don’t understand,” Scorpius says desperately. “You never said anything. You never even hinted…”

“Yes I did,” Lorcan says. He laughs a little bitterly, and the sound tears a hole in the room, a cold spot. “I thought it was obvious. I kissed you.”

The last sentence is softer, nervous.

Scorpius eases himself onto the desk opposite Lorcan, whose face is carefully angled down, staring at their ankles, which almost touch across the space between them. Scorpius’ shoelaces are undone and he’s wearing odd socks that have rolled down towards his scuffed shoes. The hem of his trouser leg is fraying badly. Lorcan, in contrast, is wearing shiny, freshly-polished shoes with neatly tied bows and black, regulation socks. Even the smallest parts of them are at odds with each other, but that’s partly what makes their friendship so strong. That’s how Scorpius has always seen it. Now he’s beginning to wonder if maybe the feeling isn’t mutual.

“You’re not talking about the kiss a moment ago, are you?” Scorpius guesses. Lorcan shakes his head slowly, and he racks his brains to try and think of another kiss.

It takes a moment, and then Scorpius inhales sharply. He can remember it, but it was years ago, long enough that the edges of the memory are soft and worn. They were lying by the river, under the shade of the poplar tree, near the stone bridge that marked the end of the Lovegood’s land. The air was sticky sweet with the scent of summer and they were tangled together, waiting for Lysander to come back with fresh lemonade. Their fishing nets lay discarded on the slopes of the river, the plimpies tossed back into the shining water.

Young. They were young and excited by the summer stretching out ahead of them, and when Lysander kissed him chastely on the mouth, smiling shyly, Scorpius had been startled, but he had laughed brightly. And then they had laid back down beneath the tree and talked loudly of everything they would do in their first year of Hogwarts, of the spells they would learn and the portraits they would meet and the secret passages they would discover. Lysander had joined them, a jug of cold lemonade held out in front of him, and when he had fitted himself on the other side of Scorpius, Scorpius could remember feeling as though he would never be happier than he was then, sandwiched between his two closest friends.

“You don’t have to explain,” Lysander says now, as Scorpius blinks the memory away. “I get it, now. It didn’t mean anything.”

Scorpius surges forward. He plants both hands on Lorcan’s face ad holds him carefully, aware that Lorcan’s eyes are wide and afraid and that Scorpius looks a little manic, right now, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t usually touch, not like this, and he can see Lorcan thinking that, but he has to make sure that Lorcan doesn’t believe what he just said. He can’t have Lorcan think that, can’t have him believe that he means nothing to Scorpius.

“Just because it didn’t mean the same thing to me as it did to you, doesn’t mean it’s worth nothing. Never think that you mean any less to me than the rest of my family and friends. You were one of my first friends, and you’re still one of my closest friends. I do love you.”

“You’re just not in love with me,” Lorcan finishes for him.

Scorpius offers him a small, pained smile. “Part of me wishes I was. That would make all of this so much easier for you.”

Lorcan snorts. “I know you don’t mean to be condescending.” He pulls back from Scorpius and sniffs, wiping his eyes. “Would you mind leaving? Just for a bit. I feel stupid enough for all of this without crying in front of you.”

“Don’t feel stupid,” Scorpius says softly. “Do you want me to get someone?”

Lorcan shakes his head as he turns away, and Scorpius hesitates for a brief moment, hand hovering like he wants to reach out and just _hold_ Lorcan, but that isn’t going to help. Scorpius isn’t going to be able to make anything better here.

*

"I need help."

“Finally admitted it, then? That’s the first part to solving a problem.”

_“Lysander.”_

Lysander looks up at him, catching the serious tone of voice, and Scorpius feels a wave of crashing relief at the lack of hatred in his gaze. Not that he thought Lysander would hate him, not really, but he didn't think it would be this easy. He thought it would take time, that their usual comfortable silences would become awkward, that he would have to build it all over again, this easy friendship that they had carved out for each other since they were young. 

"Of course, buddy." Lysander throws his quill down on the table and pats the empty space beside him on the squashy armchair. Scorpius collapses into it and folds himself up as small as he possibly can, drumming his fingers against the arm of the chair and hugging his knees tightly. 

"I'm sorry," he says, in a small voice. "I'm sorry for Lorcan. I didn't mean to upset him." 

It’s been two days since their confrontation in the classroom, and Scorpius hasn’t seen Lorcan since. He misses his friend, but he understands the need for space.

"Honestly, Scorpius, that was always going to end badly." Lysander sighs. "The only thing you can do is give him space, time. I've been waiting for something to happen, for one of you to blow up at the other for years. I could tell you didn't like him back, not in that way. But that's not your fault, y'know? You don't have to apologise for not loving someone, even if they love you. You don't owe anyone any feelings." 

"That doesn't mean I don't feel bad," Scorpius says. 

"I'd be worried if you didn't. If you didn't feel bad, it would mean you didn't care about him, and if that were true, this whole friendship would go down the drain in seconds. And I'm not talking about me and you, or you and him. I'm talking about all three of us. Which would pretty much suck balls." 

"I don't want it to end," Scorpius says miserably. "Everything's changing and I don't know how to deal with it." 

"Is that why you need my help?" Lysander asks softly. He taps his lap, sprawling back in the chair, and Scorpius hesitates before he puts his legs over Lysander's, curling into the cushions. It's a warm evening, but not stiflingly so, and quiet enough, with just the fire crackling in the corner. "What else has changed?" 

Scorpius puts his head down, his voice muffled. "Nothing's changed, not really. It's more like it changed gradually, over time, and I've only just realised it. I don't know what to do." 

"I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that this has something to do with Al, yeah?" 

Scorpius nods. Lysander sighs and pats his ankle. 

"Finally figured out your feelings?" 

Scorpius winces. "Is it really that obvious? Does everyone know?" 

"No," Lysander says, after a thoughtful pause that sends panic up Scorpius's spine. "No, it's only obvious because I know you so well. We're pretty close, and I've noticed all the changes, and I put it together a little while ago. Lorcan did too, but he was in denial and wouldn't talk about it, no matter how much I nagged him." 

"So you only know because you know me," Scorpius concludes. "Does this mean ... Do you think Al knows too?" 

Lysander hesitates. "What do you think?" 

Scorpius lets his head drop back, and smiles slightly as Lysander automatically squeezes his ankle. He might not be great with touch, but he needs it now.

"I don't know," Scorpius says. "Part of me hopes he does, but then, if he does, and he hasn't said anything, then does that mean he wants to ignore it? And if he hasn't noticed, is it because he's not looking for it? Maybe he's just not interested." 

"Or maybe he's doing what you're doing," Lysander suggests. "Maybe he's worrying about stupid stuff when he could be talking to you about it." 

"Is that a hint, by any chance?" Scorpius asks drily. He sighs and kicks his feet out, only for Lysander to slap his ankle to keep them still. "I don't want to talk about it with him. If I'm wrong, it'll make everything awkward, and I'll lose him. I'd rather have his friendship than nothing."  

"If you're wrong, and your friendship is as important and strong as you say it is, then it'll survive a bit of awkwardness," Lysander says bracingly. "Anyway, what if you're right?" 

 _What if I’m right?_ Scorpius breathes in deeply and thinks about it, properly. If he's right, then he gets _more_. He gets Al, all the time, even closer and more intense than he is now, gets to have him and hold him and be had in return. He gets everything he has now, only with more. The mere concept has him reeling, breathless. He’s never thought about it properly before. He’s never let himself think about what might happen after, if Al wanted him back. That seemed too much like tempting fate.

Lysander slaps Scorpius's knee and shoves him off the chair. "Go find him, go on. Go. I don't want to listen to you mope and moan when you could be out there getting hot and heavy in a broom closet." 

Scorpius splutters incoherently. Lysander smirks at him, looking rather pleased with himself. 

"Merlin, you get more and more like Louis every day," Scorpius says, when he gets his breath back. "You’re both disgusting, you two belong together." 

Lysander falls off the sofa in his indignation, and Scorpius cackles as he sprints through the portrait door. 

He runs straight into Lorcan. 

Both of them stagger sideways before hastily righting themselves. Scorpius feels his mind go blank at the raw, angry look on Lorcan's face. His eyes are red and puffy and there are tear tracks glistening on his cheeks, and he's holding himself differently, as though he has the weight of the world on his shoulders, and it's slowly crushing him. Scorpius makes an aborted movement, an attempt to reach out, and Lorcan flinches back. Scorpius lets his hand drop to his side as the quiet becomes awkward. 

"Off somewhere nice?" Lorcan asks thickly, wiping his eyes discreetly with his sleeve. 

"Just going to see... Uh, somebody. About something." Scorpius mentally slaps himself. 

Lorcan's expression doesn't shift, but he does scoff, "Tell Al I say hello," before he stalks past Scorpius and up through the portrait door, which is only just beginning to close. The eagle looks rather put-out at not getting to ask a riddle, and Scorpius shoots him an apologetic look, because there's nobody else here to receive it. 

He heads for the empty classroom used by Prefects for their meetings and gets there just as everyone is piling out in twos, ready for their patrols. A few of them wave and nod at Scorpius, and one blonde girl goes inexplicably red and squeaks when he smiles back at her. Scorpius watches her leave with a bemused expression before sidling through the door. 

Rose Granger-Weasley, Head Girl, is at the front of the classroom, busily cleaning the chalkboard whilst her bag packs itself. She glances at him distractedly when the door clicks shut, and spares him a tiny wave. Scorpius slips through the gap in the nearest desks and walks towards Al, who's rummaging through his bag with a frown on his face. Scorpius watches him for a moment, his steps faltering, and he's hit with a fierce rush of affection for his best friend. He wants, more than anything, to wrap his arms around Al, feel the steady beat of his heart pressed against his own. He wants to run his fingers through Al's hair, wants to touch him, hold him, kiss him. It's such a strong sense of want that it knocks him off his feet, and he has to grip a nearby desk in order to stay standing. 

Al makes a noise of triumph as he finally unearths whatever he was looking for, and Scorpius sways a little. Then Al turns and jerks a little in surprise, before a smile breaks across his face. 

"How long have you been standing there?" Al asks. 

"Only a minute," Scorpius says. He tries to shrug casually, but it ends up looking like he has a neck spasm. 

Al looks even more amused. "You look like someone hit you over the head with a broomstick. What's happened to you?" 

"You," Scorpius blurts out. "You happened to me." 

Al's mouth drops open and then snaps shut again, apparently lost for words. 

"Oh Merlin," Rose says. "I do not need to be here for this." 

They both jump apart, which is the first that Scorpius notices they were moving closer. Rose shoulders her bag and marches towards the door, which she then points to demandingly. 

"Out," she says imperiously. "You're not ruining my Prefect room with your sickening romance. Out, both of you." 

"You'd make a good librarian," Scorpius whispers, as he ducks past her. "Madam Prince 2.0." 

Rose stamps on his foot. 

They run down the hall away from here, grinning like madmen, until they come to a stop next to a cupboard. The halls will be busy in a few moments, so Scorpius gives the door a pointed look, and Al gestures grandly with his arm, a smirk on his face.

“Ladies first.”

“Age before beauty,” Scorpius insists.

“Just get in here.” Al grabs a fistful of his robes and opens the door, rolling his eyes. “I have to tell you something.”

Scorpius follows him in. It’s dark and musty, so Scorpius yanks on the chain to turn the light on. When that fails, he reaches for his wand and conjures up several balls of light whilst Al sees to the door, locking it with a whispered spell. One of the lights floats over to Al curiously, and he bats it away with a longsuffering expression. Scorpius shrugs sheepishly as another one of the lights ducks down to rest on top of Al’s head.

“They have a mind of their own?”

Al gently blows on the light until it twitches and settles on one of the shelves. Scorpius watches him for a moment, and then Al stares at him with such an intense look in his eye that it makes all of the words freeze inside of his chest. He has to look away.

“What did you mean, earlier, in the classroom?” Al asks quietly. He fidgets nervously with his glasses. “You said that I happened to you. What did you mean?”

Scorpius opens his mouth, lets it click shut again. “I just… I realised something. Lorcan and I had a fight, an argument.”

Al’s face is impassive. “About what?”

“It wouldn’t feel right to say. It’s his secret.”

Al hesitates. “Would it have anything to do with his crush on you?”

Scorpius feels his eyes grow wide. “You knew about that?”

“It was kind of obvious.” Al shrugs, ducks his head. “Although that might be because it was familiar to me.”

Scorpius sucks in his breath.

"What I'm trying to say, is that I love you," Al says, words brimming over like suds in a sink. "And I don't expect you to say anything back. I'm not saying this because I want a response. I'm saying it because I never want you to doubt it. Even if things are shit and you feel low, I want you to know that you're loved, always. No matter what you do." 

Scorpius blinks at him, stunned. It's not what he was expecting when Al dragged him in here.

"You love me," he repeats. "Like, really love me?" 

"Yeah. I love you." 

"How long?" 

"I guess it's always been there," Al says, with a quirk of his lips that Scorpius wants to memorise with his mouth. "I guess it's always been you." 

Scorpius swallows thickly. "Well, not always. You had that brief thing with Finnegan in third year, and I know you had some pretty strong feelings for that mirror during the last Hufflepuff party." 

Al blushes crimson and scowls at him. "That was your fault - I was _drunk_ \- why do you have to ruin the moment?" 

"You know I'm not great with feelings." He's not. He's not great at a lot of things, in all honesty, but he's never really minded. This, though, he wants to get right. He doesn't want Al to think that Scorpius doesn't feel it too, that he hasn't wanted this for a long time, that it isn't bone-deep by now. He catches Al's sleeve before he can turn away and pulls him closer, so that they occupy the same small space, crushed up together in the broom closet. It smells like wax and peppermint, and the muffled noises of bustling classmates drifts in through the gap under the door, but Scorpius isn't thinking about that. He's thinking about the softness of Al's wrist and the way his breath is shorter and sharper, shallow with anticipation, and he's thinking about his own heart banging harshly against his ribs. Any faster, any harder, and his bones will crack, spilling a mess of feelings into the air. 

"Stop thinking," Al whispers. "For once in your life, stop thinking logically and just - just..." 

His voice cracks, and so does Scorpius's chest, and he steps forward and presses them against the stone wall. Al is under him, and their hearts beat in tandem as Scorpius encircles one of Al's wrists with his pale, slender fingers. Their mouths slot together, one breath shared in a split second. He pulls back, and then goes back in, just a dry, firm press of lips against lips. He does it again and again, until Al's mouth softens beneath his and their heads tilt at the right angle, and the kiss deepens sweetly.  

When they pull away, Al looks dazed and soft, his mouth slack. Scorpius drinks him in and licks his lips, throat dry.

“I came to find you,” Scorpius says. “I was going to tell you something. That I’d realised something. That I love you a lot, too. Sorry – I’m not very good at this. But it happened gradually, so gradually that I didn’t really know until recently. Lorcan wanted to be with me, and I realised then that I didn’t want anyone but you.”

“Shut up,” Al says desperately. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Stuff like what? Like I love you?”

“Exactly.” Al blushes. “That kind of stuff is for books and romances, and those old dramas.”

“You said it first,” Scorpius says, shrugging. “And I’ll keep saying it for as long as you’ll listen. I can be as romantic as I want now, although I’m not sure I’ll be very good at it.”

Al groans, pitches forward to rest his forehead against his chest. “You’re going to kill me. Or I’m going to kill you. Either way, someone’s going to die.”

“Dramatic,” Scorpius accuses fondly.

“You don’t have a leg to stand on.”

“Neither do you,” Scorpius says, and he practically lifts Al off the floor in demonstration before kissing him softly.

*

_“So, it’s a study in analysis,” Scorpius says, pulling a stack of books toward him. They’re in the library, during lunch, working on their project, and Scorpius is reading through the objective. “But the analysis isn’t of objects or other matter, but of people. Specifically, it’s an analysis of your partner, which is why the projects aren’t done separately. I suppose it would be more difficult to do an analysis of yourself, and although it would be an interesting case of introspection, I expect it could also unearth some unwanted truths that Professor Cosima would be reluctant to read.”_

_To Albus’s credit, he doesn’t look annoyed or overwhelmed by Scorpius’s rushed speech, nor does he crawl underneath the nearest table in an attempt to get away from him. He settles on looking politely bewildered, which Scorpius appreciates, because most people don’t bother to soften the blow._

_“We have to combine the classes,” Scorpius says, handing Albus a copy of A Beginner’s Guide to Astronomy, and then shutting up abruptly when Al hands it back to him. He freezes for a moment, the book hovering above the table in his grip, and wonders if he needs to explain the concept of reading to Albus._

_“Um, Albus, you do know how to read, don’t you?”_

_Albus actually snorts, looking rather amused. He stares at Scorpius for a while, and then his face goes oddly blank. “You’re serious, aren’t you? That was a genuine question.”_

_Scorpius frowns. “Why would I ask a question that was false? That defeats the purpose of asking it. You gave me the book back.”_

_“Of course I know how to read,” Albus says, looking mildly offended. “Freddie’s the one with dyslexia, and I was handing you the book back because I’ve already read it. Just because I’m not as smart as you doesn’t mean I’m thick, or disabled. And don’t call me Albus.”_

_Scorpius fidgets in the stony silence. He has a feeling that he’s made a social faux par here, but he doesn’t quite know how to fix it, so he settles for placing the book back on top of the stack and then carefully arranges his notes, fiddling with a quill until Albus sighs explosively._

_“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to blow up at you.”_

_“That’s alright,” Scorpius offers awkwardly. “I said something rude, didn’t I? Sometimes you have to tell me, and I’ll make sure I don’t do it again.”_

_“No, it really is okay,” Albus says. “Domi says I can be really sensitive sometimes. Sorry. I really am looking forward to this project, y’know.”_

_Scorpius can’t help but look surprised. “You are? Most people don’t really look forward to working with me, you know.”_

_Albus scowls. “Well, that’s stupid. I’ve seen you around, and you’ve always kind of intrigued me.” He pauses, blushing hard, as if his words have only just registered. “I mean that in the least creepy way possible.”_

_Scorpius tilts his head to the side. “I don’t find it creepy. You intrigue me too.”_

_Al smiles, and then gets a steely, determined look on his face. “Call me Al,” he says. “Albus is a stupid name.”_

_Scorpius arches an eyebrow at him. “My name is Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy. I think I win.”_

_Al grins at him then, all teeth and reluctant, surprised amusement. “Albus Severus Potter. At least yours is dignified.”_

_“Perhaps it’s a draw?” Scorpius suggests, with a tentative smile. He stretches his hand out over the table, and Al doesn’t hesitate before accepting it. They shake hands. Scorpius draws back with a smile, feeling more settled. This is how most friendships begin, after all; with a handshake._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was that? Did you like it? God, I hope so, this chapter kicked my ass. Please let me know with a comment/kudos, I'd love to hear from you! And come say hey on tumblr @thealmostrhetoricalquestion if you wanna chat about scorbus! Thank you!

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments/kudos on the way out, if you liked it or if you had thoughts to add, I'd really appreciate it. Thank you so much, guys, I hope you enjoyed it!


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